Hetalia Kink Meme
by Lispet
Summary: If you google Hetalia Kink meme, a blog site shows up, and I am filling them here. The last doc is the list of the ones I am yet to fill. If you comment asking for a specific one, I might just bump it up the line a tad
1. It's okay to be gay

- **AMERICA, ENGLAND, CANADA, FRANCE, WORLD: IF YOU WERE GAY, THAT'D BE OKAY**

Basically, America's gay, but is too scared/'manly' to admit it, and others, *cough*France*cough* have their suspicions, cue everyone trying to find out the truth, when in reality, Canada knows everything.

'… And so I said that there was _no way_. I'm the United Kingdom! He can't just come in and try to kidnap my king!'

Arthur is so funny when he is drunk, I decide in one of my less-brilliant moments. It's less brilliant because I'm as pissed as he is, but at least I can keep my mouth shut when I drink.

'Then what?' Matthew is looking across the small booth at Arthur as if his words were sent from god. My stepsibling looks so amazing right now, but that could be the fuzzy haze that clings to my brain, caused by alcohol. He is in his casual clothes, that red hoodie with the bunny pockets, and he is cuddling his bear tightly whilst it is nibbling on some sort of biscuit. The dim light from the ceiling catches the brilliant platinum coloured strands in his otherwise dull blonde hair. His dark blue eyes also shine slightly from behind his glasses, mostly from the unshed tears that arose when he yawned adorably just a moment ago. It reminded me of when we were younger.

This question from my stepbrother only spurs Arthur on more.

'Any way, then he tries to _grab my ass_!' Arthur roars with laughter at his own words and I squirm uncomfortably. I do not like the idea of gays.

As I think this, I _remember_.

_I am drunk, and cold. And I feel an impossible loneliness, even though I am sitting here, next to the fire at the bar, laughing with Arthur and Matthew and Francis._

'_Sorry guys,' I get up after draining my beer. 'I'm not feeling too well anymore.' Arthur just nods, too drunk and off-with-the-pixies to care, and Francis ribs me about having too much to drink. I give the longhaired git a sickly smile._

'_I think I might go home too.' Matthew speaks up and Francis jumps about a foot into the air, as if he didn't know that Matt was there._

'_I'm fine bro.' I assure the bear-hugging nation, even as I nearly fall into him as we walk across the car park._

'_I think I might take you home.' He says as I fall into his arms, unconscious._

_When I wake, I am warm and fuzzy. I am in a bed, stripped down to my boxers. It is comfortable to my liquor-addled brain, which is starting to throb._

_I can smell bacon and eggs and grease. I think Matthew is cooking. I do not know where this conclusion came from._

_I roll over to see the white polar bear cub that Matthew is so fond of. The sight of it makes my heart melt from the cuteness. But it seems _too_ fuzzy._

_So does everything else._

_I start to panic; small whimpers arising from my throat. 'Mattie?' I call out, wincing. My throat is raw._

_I hear a clatter and Matthew appears at the door, in a white, frilly apron that reminds me of the '40's style housewife. He seems briefly irritated before a fond expression overrides his face. At least, I think that's what I see. 'Yeah?'_

'_I can't see,' I complain._

_He sighs and comes closer, sitting on the bed. He takes his glasses off and puts them on me. 'Better?' He asks. I nod. 'Are you hungry?' _

_This time I shake my head. I am not Hungary. 'I'm America!' I say childishly. _

'_Silly boy.' He chides, ruffling my hair. The bacon smell is stronger. I look away form him, and I feel lonely again even though I don't know why. Before I realise it, I start to cry._

'_Hey now, it's alright.' He unties his apron and drops it on the floor. 'I'm here.' At his reassurance, I deem it necessary to throw my arms around his waist, as if I am afraid that he is lying to me. He gently lays me down again, but I won't let go of him, so he has to lie down with me. 'What's wrong, eh?'_

'_I feel alone,' I say, too drunk to be able to do anything but be a sheep and answer his questions, 'please don't leave me.'_

_I feel him gently stroke my cheek and I look up at him. He is very close, and takes his glasses back, reaching over my neck to put them on the bedside table. 'I won't leave, promise.'_

_I nod, but I am not comforted by his words. 'Arthur said that, when I was little. He didn't come back for years, and I was so angry that I nearly shot him and said that I could handle myself.'_

_Matt leans closer, tightening his arms around me. His lips are soft and warm against mine, trying to be gentle I think. 'I won't leave you, because I can't.' I am lost to him after that._

'Earth to Alfred!' Arthur's face is too close, and I push him away. He gets too personal when he is drunk. 'You listening?'

'Uh, yeah!' I nod vigorously, and Matthew raises an eyebrow. He knows what I was thinking about. He knows me too well.

'So, back to what I was saying, Alfred, what do you think about gays?' Arthur is staring at me intently, and I look away from him because his gaze is so intense. 'C'mon, answer me! Matt's fine with them, and I am too… so long as they leave me alone, what about you?'

I make some intelligible noise, shifting away from Arthur. I do not like this topic. It is disgusting to think off, and having my old carer _this close_.

'I uh, I…' I can't think of anything to say. This is _too_ embarrassing, especially considering that my answer would be totally opposite to the other guys'.

I get up and walk off, much to Arthur's amusement. As I walk away, a bright red flush covering my face, Francis walks past me, a fancy looking drink in his hand. I pause by the door just in time to see him pressuring Matt into telling him something, considering that Arthur had officially passed out on the table.

The other nations are whispering when I walk into the next global summit, but the moment they catch sight of me, everyone falls silent. I have not spoken to anyone in a while, because my economy is a bit topsy-turvy right now, and I am trying to stabilize it. That is what I am here for; I need to tell them all how I am going.

When it is my turn, I walk up to the front, feeling an awkwardness that I haven't felt before, probably because everyone has his or her eyes fixed on my face.

'So, everyone!' I grin and turn the projector on, wiggling the mouse of my laptop. The slideshow that I had been working on for the last few months shows up on the screen behind me. 'As you can see here, this time last year, the figures shown were very low, this is because…' I stop because Francis had leant across the table to whisper something to Ivan. The Russian raised an eyebrow in response.

'Do you have something to say, Francis?' I ask placidly.

France sits back and smiles at me languidly. 'I have to wonder, this figure wouldn't be because you banned proposition 8.' (Google it with Obama's name)

I blink once or twice before realising what he was referring to. Then I blush deep red. 'That's totally off the topic!' I exclaim.

'It's allowed in my country,' Sweden speaks up, 'and our economy is going fine.'

Canada smiles faintly, 'C'mon bro, you seem to have a problem with this subject…'

'I don't, it's just that–' I begin, but Francis deems it necessary to but in.

'That you're gay?'

'Wha—no!' I look over at Matthew and he gives me a knowing smirk. He knows I'm lying, he knows how _weak_ I am in private. I know this too. I'm just too vain to admit being gay, and I'm too scared. I don't want to shoulder that kind of thing. If I did, nothing would be the same.

'I… I think I need to finish this presentation,' I stammer, turning back to my laptop. I press the button to go to the next slide, and France stands up, heading towards me. Germany doesn't stop him like he normally would.

'Aww, come on Alfred,' he tells me when I start backing away. 'There's nothing wrong with it…'

I don't hear any more of what he has to say because I run out of the room. I do not notice that France has followed me until he lets himself into the closet that I am hiding in.

'America, you are a grown nation now,' he is too close to me for my liking, and his arms are around my waist. 'Surely you can be adult enough to admit this…' His hands are lower… lower.

'I… I don't know what you're talking about.' I stutter, trying to pull away from him, but I have nowhere to go. He has me trapped against the wall.

'It's perfectly fine to like boys, Alfred.' His tongue, which is warm and moist might I add, traces the line of my ear and I shiver because his hot and heavy breath falls into my ear.

'I don't…' I try to protest, but Francis' hands are undoing the buttons of my pants, this is too close, too personal, and only Matthew can do this to me. I whimper.

'It's alright, there's nothing wrong with being gay,' he has succeeded in unbuttoning my pants, and his hands are reaching inside. I can feel my cotton boxers scratching against my skin.

What France is saying may be true, but to me, it is degrading and wrong. What I have with Matthew is different, and complex.

I pull away even more before throwing myself blindly in the direction of the closet door, and France and I tumble out, me landing on top of him.

I leap up the moment we stop moving and I run all the way home. When I lock the door, I realise that I am shaking, and I feel cold and lonely again. I fumble for my phone and call Matthew.

When he picks up, I have already removed my neat jacket and I have found that bottle of particularly strong alcohol that Ivan gave me sometime last year.

'Hey Alfred,' he sounds like nothing happened earlier. There is the faint sound of a car in the background. I think he might be driving. 'What's up?'

I pull the cork out of the top of the bottle with my teeth and spit it out, resisting the urge to respond with a sarcastic 'the ceiling', instead opting to have a swig of the alcohol. I think it might be vodka.

Well, no matter what it is, it tastes horrible, but my mind is already growing hazy. 'Nyeah.' I reply.

'That bad, huh?' Matthew chuckles. 'Look, I'm nearly home, so I'll come by, alright?' I nod, feeling very immature, and, as if Matthew understands, he hangs up.

I cannot remember when Matthew arrives. I was already too drunk. All I can remember is his warm hands gently levering the bottle from my numb fingers and then his arm around my waist, his hand in the small of my back as he guides me to my room and to my bed.

He helps me undress and then ushers me under the doona. I feel too weak to argue with him when he kicks his shoes off and joins me.

'Your shirt will get crumpled.' I finally tell him, my only means of protest.

'It's already crumpled,' he says with a smile as he removes my glasses, now my already fuzzy vision is worse. 'It's fine. I can use an iron.'

'Mattie,' I begin, but I can't think of what to say next.

'Alfie,' he replies in a slight mock voice of mine. 'It's alright.' He hugs me close and I feel safe. 'We're together again.'

'It hurts.' I whine. He lets me go, as if he thinks that he's hugging me too tightly. I pat my chest, roughly where my heart is. 'Right here, and I feel so empty.'

His hands, although they were warm against my own, are cold to my chest as he unbuttons my shirt and slips his hands inside, right over my heart. 'I'll kiss it better, eh?' He bends his head down to nibble at my shoulder before scooting down to kiss my skin, right where his cold hand was. He then looks up at me, and I think that his eyes are slightly watery.

'Matt…' I tug on his shirt to pull him up so I can see him better. 'I… about earlier…'

'It's alright,' he repeats, 'don't listen to them.' He kisses my nose. 'You don't have to be gay or anything, I'll still love you.'

I don't feel so empty anymore, or alone. I nod slowly, and let him kiss me. Everything feels numb now, and I can't feel his lips. I think the vodka was stronger than I thought. 'I think I love you too Matthew.' I tell him when he lets me go. At first, I think that this is the alcohol talking, but when I wake in the morning, naked and sore, and I see him lying there, only my blue sheets to preserve his modesty, he looks so beautiful, his glasses are askew, and the sun is softly glinting off his hair. I smile softly and shift closer to him because he makes me feel complete.

Maybe Francis is right; it's okay to be gay.

Owari~!

* * *

><p>AN: This is my first published story up here, I'd love it if you guys commented (hint hint) to tell me where I need to improve. Keep in mind, I will change writing styles A LOT and I wrote this a while ago.


	2. Kilroy was here

- **AMERICA, GERMANY: "KILROY WAS HERE"**

'Hey Germany!' America gave a shout as he ran to catch up. Huffing, he finally caught up.

'Hallo America.' Germany barely turned to look at him. 'Did you run all the way from the conference room?'

'Yes! It's so far!' America leant on his knees, gasping.

'You are very unfit.' Germany commented.

'So,' America stood up properly, having caught his breath, 'doing anything later?'

'Not really.' Germany took his reading glasses off, having forgotten to at the end of their conference. 'I was going to go to a café somewhere und get some Kaffee, und cake.' Despite his best efforts, he was unable to fully accommodate to the common language shared amongst the nations, and slipped back into a word of German here and there, his accent already blurring certain sounds, mostly 'w' and 'a'.

'Ooh!' America perked up, hardly noticing Germany's ill-begotten language. 'Coffee! I'm in!'

Germany let out a sigh and started walking in the general direction of the nearest café, as he knew that there was no chance that America was going to find his own way to one. This time, the conference was held in the beautiful outskirts of Berlin. 'Come along then.'

America hurried after him and they ducked into a small booth at the end of the small café. The walls were painted pale pink and blue with white pillars sporadically placed at intervals around the walls.

Fairly soon, a young lady came to serve them. 'Zwite Kaffee, bitte schön. Ohne milch.' Germany said this briskly and the lady left, returning shortly with a tray.

America stared at Germany with a dumbfounded expression on his face. 'What the hell was that?' He finally managed to ask.

'I was speaking German. You seem to find this difficult to comprehend.' Germany picked up his cup and sipped at it slowly, sighing when the warm liquid hit his stomach.

'Yeah, what ever.' America too, took his coffee and drank some. 'Wow this is great.'

'Naturlich.' Germany stretched his neck, looking up at the ceiling as he did so. When he saw was someone had scrawled on the pink plaster, he froze and put his cup down before he dropped it.

'You okay?' America looked up at the roof as well, and only saw that someone had graffiti-ed the words _Kilroy was here_ on the ceiling. He sighed and shook his head. Germany was afraid of one of his _shipyard inspectors_?

Germany stooped a little in his seat, looking around frantically, as if he were no hunted.

It took his a good fifteen minutes before he decided that the only ones in the café were himself and America and that there was no super-spy out to get him.

'Kids, huh?' America said jokingly, motioning to the ceiling.

Germany gave America a sidelong glance, his head still turned from looking around the room for this 'Kilroy'. 'No,' he said quietly. 'I believe that there is a super-spy named Kilroy because first, this marking,' he pointed to the roof, 'appeared only on captured equipment, but now it's everywhere. I think it's a warning.' Germany scooted around the booth so he was sitting next to America, glancing around cautiously. 'I don't want him to hear our conversation,' he explained.

'Germany,' America placed his hand on the other nation's shoulder, he was barely containing laughter at Germany's agitation and caution, 'I really have to tell you something.'

'Yeah?' Germany barely heard him, still searching for the spy.

'That Kilroy guy, he's one of my best shipyard inspectors. He just scribed his name to prevent the riveters from doing a bad job, but that was ages ago.' Germany looked up at America sharply and the hero nodded knowingly. 'Some soldiers picked up on it when they had to do maintenance and started writing it everywhere.'

'So Kilroy is… not a spy?' Germany didn't seem any more relaxed.

'Nope. He inspected rivets.' America drained his coffee, which was now cold. 'Just remember that. He died like ten years ago.'

Germany made some noise of slight dissent, but let it go. 'Very well.'


	3. A kiss

- **JAPAN/VENEZIANO: THEY END UP KISSING**

I tugged awkwardly at my white gloves. They were, as usual, spotless, but not like usual, they didn't seem to fit quite right. Nor did the rest of my clothes.

I stood on the balcony, looking down the green, grassy hill where Italy was laying on the grass, playfully batting at a ball of wool whilst Germany's cat tried to catch it.

Germany stood to one side, his rifle half hanging from his hands whilst he watched the innocent nation. He had long since tried stopping Italy from 'torturing' his kitty.

Italy stopped laughing suddenly and stood up, allowing the cat to steal the wool. He walked over to Germany, almost sadly and spoke to him quietly, too quiet for me to hear.

Germany looked down at Italy with a pitiful expression on his face. Almost reluctantly, he pulled Italy into a brief hug and ruffled the brown hair. I felt my heart twinge in guilt. I knew what was making Italy sad.

Me.

In one of my all too common bouts of awkwardness, I stubbornly rejected a hug from Italy, sending him running away, tears growing in his eyes.

That had been exactly three hours and eighteen minutes ago, if the clock on the wall was correct, and every second that passed, the throbbing regret that was growing within me got worse and worse.

I backed off the patio and closed the glass folding doors behind me and briefly glanced around my room. The walls were made of timber, painted white, as were all the window frames. Quite a common scheme for the era, especially over here in Europe.

Back home, we were still stuck on paper doors. No windows, just lanterns to give us the light we needed.

I removed my gloves and dropped them on my bed – a large four-poster that had deep red sheets adorning it – and vacated my spotless room.

I strode down the marble hallway, making it look like I had purpose when in truth I had none. Our training session had ended about an hour ago, and only Germany was still practicing. For the rest of the day, I had nothing else to do.

I was nearly bowled over when I reached the top of the steps – also made of white marble – by Italy.

I gave him a customary bow, 'Italy-san,' I murmured.

He seemed distracted and barely managed a frantic nod in acknowledgment before scurrying off, probably to his room.

I considered following him, to apologise, but then again, I could just go and ask Germany for help with my shooting skills, I needed it. My conscience finally won out and I turned smartly on my heel and made my way back to Italy's room.

I knocked on the door three times, and waited. The door opened and, wen Italy saw me, he let out a slight squeak and tried to slam the door. _Tried_ being the operative word.

I jammed my foot in the gap and felt it get squeezed in the doorframe. I pried the door open and slipped in before allowing Italy to slam the door. I don't think he realised that I was in here with him, judging by the fact that he locked the door.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and he jumped about a foot in the air. 'Sorry,' I blurted out, 'I didn't mean to scare you.'

He just nodded in reply and walked over to his bed, kicking his boots off as he did so.

'Umm…' I suddenly found myself lost for words, 'about earlier, I'm sorry about that too.'

Italy looked up at me, painting a smile on his face. 'It's alright,' his voice sounded choked, 'I was very forward.'

I walked closer to him. 'Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?' I felt slightly embarrassed after I said this, realising that he could interpret this in ay way he wanted. 'I mean in your country… is there any way that people say sorry, o-or comfort people?'

Italy looked away, positively embarrassed himself. 'A… a kiss.' He whispered this so quietly that I nearly didn't hear it.

I swallowed. _That_ was awkward by anyone's standards… except maybe France's.

'Very well.' My voice was surprisingly steady. 'Come here.' I beckoned with one finger and Italy shyly approached me.

I was all too aware that he wasn't going to do anything, so I lifted his chin up and gently laid a kiss on his lips.

He was all so soft and warm, and so… so _alive_! He blossomed under my lips, and, whilst finding one hand in his hair, the other one was wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer to me.

Under his shirt, his skin was just as warm as his lips, just as soft and inviting. I pushed him backwards and we fell to the bed with a soft thump, my fingers twining into Italy's, holding his hands above his head.

Our lips still hadn't parted.

I freed one of my hands and ran it down his body until I could slip it under his shirt again. Running on instinct, I caressed his smooth skin, causing him to moan into my mouth.

'Nihon~' His voice was low and lusty and oh-so-beautiful. My actions quickened.

Italy quickly pulled back, his head turning sharply to the left when the door burst open with a loud bang. I too, turned my head to see who the intruder was.

'Oh fuck,' was all I could think to whisper.

Germany stood there, absolutely flabbergasted, his gun held over one shoulder by one hand, and in his other was a white flag.

Excitedly, and totally oblivious to the edgy atmosphere that Germany had bought into the room with him, Italy pushed me off him and bounded over to the taller nation.

'Doitsu! You found my flag!' Italy leapt onto Germany, throwing his arms around his neck. 'Thank you!'

Germany gave me an odd look before possessively wrapping his arm around Italy's waist, suspending him in the air. The blonde placed a kiss on Italy's neck and suddenly, everything clicked.

I had been caught feeling up my only friend's partner.

Cue awkward silences that would be broken by an innocent little nation for weeks.

I slunk out of the room in search of my gloves.


	4. Pain

**SEALAND/LATVIA: PAIN**

* * *

><p>Sorry it's so long... "  
>This actually looks better in the Word doc, because it has the Right Align button, but it's not too important.<br>**THIS IS NSFW! VERY NSFW!~ **  
>Enjoy, R&amp;R<p>

* * *

><p>He can't remember when it began; it must've been when he was living with Russia, and the others in the Soviet Union.<p>

That was so long ago. So cold, so _painful_.

It's warm now, and much better, happier, in the shower.

Sealand must be cold though, even though hot water is flowing over his shoulders. He's pressed against the cold tiles, freezing his back, his legs tightly wound around Latvia's not much larger body as Latvia slowly slides in and out of his tight entrance, making the micronation whimper.

This is nice, thinks Latvia, it's soft and comfortable, _tender, _but…

…_so much pain, no blood, but purple bruises along his thighs and around his waist from where Russia has grabbed too tightly, he shouldn't like it, but it makes him feel loved…_

…it's not… perfect.

Sealand's fingers tighten in Latvia's hair, and his legs pull tight. Latvia pushes his lips against Sealand's bared throat and moves faster.

'Latvia…' Sealand's voice can barely be heard over the patter of the water droplets.

'Jā?' Latvia pushes himself into Sealand as far as he can.

'Right… there!' Sealand's voice rises in pitch.

Latvia smiles, and pushes again. It's very nice, he thinks. He has full control over Sealand, but…

…_Russia finally stops teasing, stops running the rope gently across his back. Latvia grips the wooden bench that he's leaning against, and bites into the cuff of his uniform as the rope whistles through the air._

_His scream is bloodcurdling, but he arches his back into the contact and the scream softens down to an inaudible moan. Blood trickles down his spine, and he grins through the haze of pain._

_Behind him, Russia chuckles darkly, raising the whip again…_

…it's the wrong way around.

Latvia's movements become jerky and erratic, stronger, faster and Sealand's grip tightens, almost painfully.

With Sealand's heels digging into his back, Latvia comes, and his body slumps forward. Sealand's breath is harsh in his ear, and the micronation also collapses against his lover's chest.

They slide to the floor, and the warm water washes all of Sealand's sticky white seed from their sweat-and-water slicked bodies.

Latvia allows his head to fall backwards to rest on the glass door, and Sealand reaches up to turn the shower off.

Soft lips mold around Latvia's, gently nipping at the supple flesh. 'Thanks,' Sealand murmurs, the word blurs into a yawn.

'I suppose it is late, isn't it?' Latvia smiles gently and runs his fingers along Sealand's smooth, nearly unblemished skin. Lethargically, he lifts his other hand and touches the skin at the side of Sealand's neck, where the skin is slightly lighter in one small patch. 'Sorry,' Latvia mumbles, 'that hurt didn't it?'

Sealand laughs, 'it was just a flower.' The micronation kisses Latvia and wraps his arms around the elder's scarred waist.

* * *

><p>When he can't take the tenderness anymore, he has to go back. But he's careful about it. He goes when Sealand goes to a G8 meeting to at least try to get some recognition.<p>

'Vat is you doing here?' Violet eyes survey Latvia with curiosity.

Latvia blushes, but maintains composure. 'Please hurt me!' He thrusts his hand out in front of him, wrists together.

'And vhy should I do zat? I sought you are veeth Seeland now?' Russia leans forward slightly, as if taking in Latvia's nervousness.

'I am, but...'

'But?' Russia reaches out and grabs Latvia's outstretched hands, his long fingers easily wrapping around both of Latvia's wrists.

'Too… gentle,' Latvia manages to say past his embarrassment. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, it's cheating on Sealand, and he loves Sealand. But Sealand is too soft, too kind. He wouldn't understand.

'I see,' they enter a room and Russia lets Latvia go. 'Vould you like enytheeng before we begeen?'

'A drink?' Latvia's voice is hopeful, and Russia passes him a bottle of clear liquid almost immediately. Latvia drinks straight from the bottle and shudders before putting it down. 'Thanks.'

'Zhat ees no problem, now, to business, da?' Russia kept his gaze on Latvia's face, actually surprised that the Baltic had lasted this long without returning.

Latvia shivers and nods. 'Jā.'

Without warning, Russia's hand blurs and Latvia crumples to the floor before the sound of the backhand reaches his ears.

'Perhaps zat vas too crude,' Russia reaches down and picks Latvia up by his collar. 'Geeve me your hand.'

Slowly, Latvia extends his arm and Russia takes the appendage, almost gently. Just as slowly, Russia proceeds to snap the Baltic's metacarpals one by one, watching Latvia's expression with relish.

By the breaking of the second, bone, Latvia is panting, trying to control the pain and hold back the sob that he knew was rising. By the time Russia's broken all five, he's whimpering, with tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He's stronger than he looks.

Under his pale skin, purple begins to spread, and when Russia's finished, his hand is slightly swollen and nearly black. Tentatively, Latvia flexes his fingers and grunts in pain when he can't. When the pain dulls, he can feel another throbbing, lower, more comfortable.

'Zat vasn't good eether, vas eet? Too ugly.' Russia dismisses the injury with irritation. Latvia nods. Russia walks across the room, which Latvia hadn't paid much attention to, to a desk. 'Come here,' Russia orders. Like a puppy smitten with its owner, Latvia obeys. 'Here,' Russia pulls the chair out and Latvia drops to his knees and rests one arm on the seat, allowing the other to hang below the chair, so his back is bared to Russia.

Smiling, Russia runs a rope across Latvia's back, and Latvia slides his fingers beneath the waistband of his pants.

* * *

><p>'How'd things go?' Latvia asks Sealand when he returns, mainly to distract the younger of the two, to keep his attention away from Latvia's limp, from the discolouration in his hand, the blood that was smeared on his neck.<p>

'Horrible,' Sealand takes his hat off to ruffle his hair, 'the only one who could remember me was Canada…' Sealand's voice trailed off, his attention fixed on something. 'Where'd you go?'

'What?' Latvia steps closer slowly, not too much pressure on that leg, hide the limp. Stop himself from blubbering down into an I-need-sex state.

'Latvia,'

'Jā?'

'Be honest with me please,' Sealand reaches up and sweeps some hair from Latvia's eyes, 'you went to Russia's house, didn't you?'

Latvia looks down into Sealand's blue eyes. They're not accusing, or angry. They're just sad. 'Jā… I did.' Latvia bows his head in shame. 'I'm so sorry.' He adds in a whisper.

Sealand doesn't hear the last part. 'Latvia! You know how cruel he can be, what did he do to you?'

'No-nothing!' Latvia squeaked. 'He just wanted an excuse to avoid Belarus!'

'You're a terrible liar, you know that?'

'Jā,' Latvia avoids Sealand's gaze. He can't bring himself to own up, it would kill Sealand.

'So what did Russia want?' Sealand pushes Latvia's chin up and presses their lips together. 'Because he wasn't at the meeting.'

Latvia yields. 'He didn't want me,' he mumbles, unable to help himself, 'I went to him.'

'Why would you do that?' Sealand asks. It feels like someone slapped the Baltic, but the pain that Sealand must feel is worse though, right?

Latvia opens his eyes to look at Sealand, Sealand looks concerned, and he probably thinks that Latvia is either crazy to go to Russia's house willingly, or that he remembered that he left something there. He hasn't realised what's going on, Latvia thinks, he doesn't know.

'Latvia?' Sealand presses for an answer.

'I… I'm not sure,'

'Did he hurt you?' Sealand takes Latvia's lack of reply as a yes, 'Where? Let me see! Ohh, I swear, if you're bleeding, I'm going to get my mecha-suit and beat him up!'

'It's nothing much, Peter, really.' Latvia steps away from Sealand, forgetting that his leg is raw and oh-so-painful. It collapses under his weight and he bites his tongue to suppress whatever sound he might make. Sealand can't know.

Ever.

'Raivis!' Sealand falls to his knees and takes Latvia's hand, the wrong hand. Latvia screams in pain when Sealand squeezes his broken bones. 'Wha- Latvia!' Sealand turns angry when he sees the purple marks, 'this isn't nothing!'

Latvia flushes red, trying to ignore how the throbbing in his hand was balanced out by other throbbing in all the _right_ places.

'I've had worse,' Latvia tries to dismiss the injury, but Sealand has already started fussing.

'What else is there? I know that Russia wouldn't settle for a few broken bones.' Sealand starts unbuttoning Latvia's uniform, hardly noticing how new and clean it is.

'S-Sealand, stop!' Latvia urges. If Sealand keeps going this way, pushing his flayed back into the carpet like this, he's going to lose it!

Sealand's hands jerk as they try to unclasp the bottom of the zip. Latvia's jacket scrapes against his back. 'Peter!' Latvia cries, his voice is sudden and needy as he throws is head back. Sealand stops abruptly.

'What is it?' Sealand asks with concern. 'Are you okay?'

Latvia half sits up, leaning on his hands, 'No I'm not okay,' he grabs Sealand's sailor collar and desperately presses his lips against Sealand's, sloppily.

'L-Latvia, this isn't the time, is it?' Sealand manages between gasps.

'Don't… care,' Latvia pants, 'I need… you, now.' He shrugs his uniform off and wraps his arms around Sealand's neck.

'Latvia!' Sealand snaps. 'Cut it out! I need to see what Russia did to you!'

'It's nothing I can't handle.' Latvia pushes Sealand back, so he's on top. Automatically, Sealand grabs around Latvia's waist to maintain balance. When he feels the warm wetness, he gasps.

'Latvia, stop.' Sealand wriggles, trying to free himself. 'You're bleedi-'

Latvia growls in his throat, deep and rumbly. 'Sealand,' something in the tone of his voice makes Sealand freeze, 'you really need to realise something.'

'What?' Sealand's hands fall to the carpet with a soft thump.

'The pain…' Latvia sits back, trying to find how to describe it. He goes with the simplest, 'I like it.'

'Wha- Why… why would you?' Sealand is nearly incoherent, stumbling over his own throat.

'It… it makes me feel in control, I… that's why I…' Latvia closes his eyes. He can't face up to Sealand and tell him this. His voice drops to a shamed whisper, 'That's why I go to Russia, so he can…' he opens his eyes, 'I'm so sorry…' Latvia bites his lip and lets tears roll down his cheeks.

'You…' Sealand pauses, thinks it over. 'I… I don't get it.'

Latvia leans forward abruptly, trapping Sealand's hands with his own. 'Goddamn it Sealand, I've been cheating on you, all right? I… I never meant to, but… sometimes, I can't take the… tenderness… and I… I thought that you wouldn't hurt me, so I had to go back to Russia,' Latvia falls silent, save for the hiccupping sobs.

'You… cheated on me?' Sealand's eyes grow wide, and then mist over. He closes them and when they open, they are clear, but dull and void of emotion. 'Idiot.' He growls, sitting up.

Before Latvia can say anything, Sealand gets up and leaves.

Latvia squeezes his eyes shut and curls his legs up to his chest, this is a bad pain, one that brings no pleasure at all.

When something wet trickles onto his back, burning into his cuts, he screams and grips his shins tightly.

'What does Russia do?' Sealand asks, cutting off the flow of liquid. 'To hurt you.'

Latvia looks up, sees Sealand standing above him, bottle of gin in hand. His mind is so muddled with different kinds of hurt that he can only think of a simple 'eh?' to say.

'Well, if I don't want you to cheat on me, then I have to be able to please you, right? But I'm not good at hurting people, so you'll have to teach me.'

Latvia's eyes widen momentarily, fresh tears welling up. 'R-really?'

Biting his lip, Sealand nods and kneels by Latvia. 'I will,' he puts the bottle down and places his hand on Latvia's cheek, 'but you have to teach me.'

'Here,' Latvia lay down, pulling Sealand with him, 'you don't hit, it's too simple. But you're not strong, so you can't push me around.'

'So, what do I do?' As he asks this, Sealand shucks his shirt.

'I didn't get these by accident,' Latvia awkwardly traces the tessellated scars on his pale skin.

'I, err, you want me to… to _cut_ you?' Sealand looks away, feeling a mix of embarrassment and fear. What if he does the wrong thing, or cuts too deeply? 'I…' he frowns and looks back at Latvia, looks into his pale eyes, Latvia wants him to do this, 'okay, I will. Just… how will I?'

'In my belt…' Sealand's hands go to Latvia's belt, patting around, 'there's a switchblade knife.'

'Yeah,' there is a click, and the blade snaps out. 'Are you sure?' Sealand asks, Latvia nods, 'What if I cut too deeply?'

Latvia smiles and kisses Sealand's nose. 'You won't, I promise.'

'Okay,' Sealand bites his lip and places the knife against Latvia's soft skin, He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away, he doesn't want to see himself hurt Latvia, he loves the Baltic too much.

Before Sealand can gather the courage to cut Latvia, Latvia's hands wrap around Sealand's, and press down, into Latvia's skin. The hands loosen and Latvia moans.

Sealand opens his eyes and looks at Latvia's face, not the cut, not the cut. 'Is that alright?' Sealand asks cautiously, leaning down to move his face closer to Latvia's.

'Jā, do it again,' Latvia opens his eyes, and Sealand notices that they are clouded with the same kind of lust that preludes whenever they have sex, but stronger. Sealand shivers.

Carefully, he moves the knife, to a new spot. He keeps his eyes on Latvia's face, to gauge his reaction, to see how he feels. When the blade pierces Latvia's skin, Latvia cries out and throws his head back.

'A-again,' Latvia begs, and so Sealand obeys.

Mid cut, Latvia hooks his legs around Sealand's hips, pulling him closer. Sealand's hand jerks, making the cut deeper, longer.

Sealand nearly blurts out an apology, but he can't. Latvia's too… he shakes his head. He doesn't know what to think. Latvia's spine is arched off the floor, into the blade, and his legs are pulling Sealand closer, Sealand can't apologise for something that Latvia's clearly _enjoying_.

Sealand smiles instead. He likes this, even though he doesn't like hurting Latvia. He likes making Latvia feel so good.

'Sealand?' Latvia's eyes crack open, 'can… can you…' Latvia blushes.

'Can I…?' Sealand mouths Latvia's shoulder, following the muscle up to his neck with his tongue.

Latvia's voice drops to a whisper, positively embarrassed. 'I want you to fuck me, please.'

'Oh…' Sealand lets the knife go and sits up to he can look at Latvia. Sealand can feel heat spreading across his cheeks and into his ears. 'I uhh… never really pay attention when you…' He trails off, but the rest of the sentence is clear.

'In my box…' Latvia motions towards the bed. Visible underneath it is an old shoebox. Sealand is familiar with it already.

'I got it.' Sealand crawls over and returns with the box. But the time he's back, he notices that Latvia's already removed his remaining clothes.

Latvia moves, so he's kneeling. 'Here, let me.' He takes the box and puts it aside, and instead shuffles closer to Sealand, so their bodies are pressed together.

Gently, Latvia runs his hands down Sealand's unmarred body, down his back, around the side of his stomach and then back up his chest. Sealand trembles, he likes this, the softness, like feathers. But he can tell that Latvia is having trouble being so soft.

Latvia isn't s soft person. Sealand realises. He never has been, having to deal with the great depression, and being overrun, and _used_, by Russia and the Soviets so many times.

'It's okay,' Sealand murmurs into Latvia's ear, 'if you want, you don't have to be so gentle.'

The moment Sealand says these words, something changes. It's subtle, but Latvia isn't quite the same.

'I… jā, I know that,' Latvia replies in the same low voice that Sealand used. Latvia bows his head and trails kisses up Sealand's neck to his ear. 'I don't want to hurt you.'

Sealand moves his head back to look into Latvia's eyes. 'It's okay, you won't, I promise.'

As he takes in these words, Latvia's eyes mist over, and they soften around the corners. 'All right,' Latvia nods and his hands become firmer, more definite.

Sealand loops his arms around Latvia's neck, pulling him in for a kiss, and Latvia moves his hand down, to Sealand's pants.

With practiced ease, he undoes the button and zip, and starts pulling Sealand's pants down. Awkwardly, Latvia pushes Sealand backward, managing to keep their lips together, and remove Sealand's pants entirely.

Latvia sits back down again. 'Come here, Sealand.' Latvia's voice is so clouded by emotion that Sealand feels compelled to crawl over to Latvia. 'Here,' Latvia deposits the blade into Sealand's hand again, and Sealand automatically moves to cut Latvia again. He's about to slice the pale skin open when Latvia's hand wraps around him, cold and slick.

'Wha-?' Sealand gasps.

'Don't mind,' Latvia takes Sealand's hand and returns the blade to his skin, 'just cut.'

Sealand nods and does what is asked, but is too distracted by whatever the hell Latvia is doing, because it feels _so good_ and he doesn't want it to stop! Sealand moans quietly, leaning forwards into the knife.

Deep red blood wells up and trickles off the side of Latvia's belly.

Sealand repositions the knife.

'Sealand… I need…' Latvia wraps his legs around Sealand's slim torso again and draws Sealand closer. 'You…' Latvia's hand moves Sealand's length slightly before sliding away. 'Now,' Latvia whispers.

As one, Sealand's hips and hands move.

Latvia screams, but Sealand is too distracted to notice much, even the knife buried inch deep in Latvia's stomach.

Latvia's ass is so much warmer and tighter than he thought, but it isn't uncomfortable, just_ nice_.

'Sealand…' Latvia croaks, 'move!'

And Sealand does, hips snapping forwards sharply. He leans forwards, placing his hands on either side of Latvia's head.

He sets up a careful rhythm, much like the one Latvia uses with Sealand, but he is quickly encouraged to move faster, harder.

Sealand starts panting, and his movements become jerky, rough, making Latvia slide across the carpet slightly with each thrust.

Then Latvia stops him. 'Wait a sec,' Sealand freezes, 'you get the idea now, so…' Latvia pulls away, and Sealand lets out an involuntary whimper when he loses his warmth, and he was _so close_ too. Latvia grunts as he pulls the knife from his stomach.

'Oh my god, I _stabbed_ you?' Sealand's eyes widen in shock, 'I didn't mean… I…' Latvia smiles and places the knife over Sealand's lips, gently.

'It's fine,' Latvia says quietly. He casts the knife away and rolls over, so he's on his elbows and knees, his back arching in a way that it probably _shouldn't_, but he does it anyway. 'Continue,' Latvia says calmly.

Sealand doesn't want to _think_ about anything, so he does as Latvia says and moves forwards, his hands mirroring bruises on Latvia's hips, and _God_, Russia must be strong if he can leave such precise bruises.

Carefully, he slides in again, and this time, doesn't need encouragement from Latvia. His fingers dig into Latvia's hips, pulling Latvia back as he pushes forward.

Sealand groans, and rests his head between Latvia's shoulder blades, and his thumb digs into an old cut, one left by Russia.

Latvia moans.

Sealand lifts his head and looks at his thumb, under Latvia's skin. He moves it and Latvia pushes his hips back needily, closer to Sealand.

Sealand frowns. He doesn't like this. The only reason that Latvia is getting this pleasure is because Russia cut him in the first place. Sealand's hand jerks when the muscles in his arm tense up.

Only _he_ should be able to pleasure Latvia in any way, even if it's morally wrong. He suddenly felt a desire to hurt Latvia, make him cry out, beg for more, scream his name.

_His_ name.

His hand tightens on Latvia's waist and he pushes his hips forward, further than he has to. Latvia moans.

It isn't enough… is it ever?

His hand moves from Latvia's waist, to his flayed back. He tightens his fingers and runs his knuckles up Latvia's spine, pushing healing flesh the wrong way, too far, _too far_!

Latvia's arms collapse, so he has to turn his head to the side, rest on his shoulders, and he screams.

'Sealand…' Latvia whispers, unable to speak any louder. 'P-please, it hurts…'

Sealand smiles. 'It's okay,' he pats Latvia's head. 'I'll make it better…' his fingers twine in Latvia's hair and pulls, harder, _harder_.

Latvia whimpers and pushes himself up, so he's kneeling into Sealand. 'Such a good boy,' Sealand whispers into his ear. His hand slides around Latvia's waist, to grip Latvia's length tightly.

He starts moving his hand, smoothly, and a hum rises in Latvia's throat. 'Sealand, please… just…' Sealand's hand twists in his lover's hair.

'Just what?' Sealand keeps moving his hand.

'Stop… teasing!'

'Not until you…' Sealand pushes Latvia down by his head so he's on his shoulders again. '…Beg.'

Latvia placed his hands on the floor and pulled himself away from Sealand, twisting so he was facing the micronation.

'Please, Sealand,' he breathes, his eyes softening around the edges, 'I want you to fuck me, until I can't feel anything.' Latvia leans forwards and places his hands on Sealand's thighs, his lips on Sealand's shoulder. 'Please…'

Sealand smiles and shoves Latvia backwards, aligning himself between Latvia's hips. 'Do you want this?' Sealand is surprised that he can think properly enough. He wants to do as Latvia says, wants to fuck Latvia until neither of them can move, but he wants Latvia helpless, and at his mercy.

Latvia is nearly crying. He just wants Sealand to get on with it, please, just make me feel better! 'No, I _need_ this, please!' Latvia reaches up and wraps his hands around the back of Sealand's neck, his fingers in the blonde locks.

Sealand grins and arches his back to get the leverage he needs, and puts an end to Latvia's cries, and his needs.

He knows that he's doing the right thing, because Latvia's fingers are tight in his hair, and Latvia's legs are tight around his waist as he moves roughly, into Latvia.

'Sealand, Sealand…' Latvia's eyes close, and he tilts his head backward, exposing his throat as he croon's the micronation's name over and over again.

Sealand isn't satisfied by this. He wants Latvia to acknowledge him. _Him!_

He wraps one of his hands as far around Latvia's waist as he can, digging his fingers into as many cuts as he can, feeling the thick, hot blood drip down his wrist.

Latvia arches closer to Sealand, his voice breaking into a loud moan. Sealand bites his lip and urges his muscles to move faster, harder, stronger.

Latvia's shoulders slide across the rough carpet, accompanied by a scream when Sealand's fingers dig tighter, drawing more blood.

Latvia all but screams. 'I… Peter!' Sealand grins and bends to kiss Latvia's neck when the Baltic finally succumbs, spilling white come on his stomach, into his cuts, burning them. His heels dig into Sealand's back, preventing him from moving as Latvia's body shakes in pain and satisfaction.

When Latvia's legs grow slack, Sealand gently pulls away and flops to the floor, panting.

Latvia rolls over and presses himself against Sealand's back, his arms winding around the micronation's waist, feeling how his muscles flex as his lungs draw in oxygen. 'Thank you,' he whispers, licking a droplet of sweat form the back of Sealand's neck. _Thank you for sex, thank you for not leaving, thank you for understanding, thank you for loving me…_

Sealand rolls over, pausing to sweep hair from Latvia's eyes before burying the hand in the silver hair and kissing the Baltic.

'I'm sorry,' Sealand whispered back. _I'm sorry for not realising, I'm sorry for hurting you, I'm sorry I didn't hurt you, I'm sorry I love you..._

Latvia smiles. He understands.


	5. Revenge

- **RUSSIA/AMERICA: REVENGE**

**Sometime in the 1970's**

'America, I have a new job for you.' I looked over at my superior. He was an ageing man with a lined face and grey hair. At least I wouldn't age like he did. I was a _nation_. Not a human.

'Leave it to the hero!' I said confidently. I could handle anything. After all, haven't I leapt into almost every war so far and ended it?

My superior sighed, as if he didn't believe me. 'Very well,' he sounded tired, 'I need you to go to Russia and get some information from him. May I suggest to you that becoming friends with him is a really good start?'

'Whatever old man.' I stood up and zipped my jacket up a little more. 'I'll have this done in a week.'

Just before I left, I heard him wish me luck.

'I don't need it!' I was already formulating a plan. I would be like a spy! I had always wanted to do something like that.

Now, how did spies get information from a person? The answer immediately leapt to mind without much prodding. I had only watched each _James Bond_ movie about seven times.

I would seduce Russia.

It didn't even pass through my head that my sexual experiences were limited to losing my virginity to England whilst I was still a colony, and that the only real 'regular' sex that I got was when ever I got drunk and Canada or Mexico was bored. I couldn't even remember half of those encounters.

I pulled my phone out and dialed Russia as I walked. I invited him over for drinks. He likes alcohol, and, according to the movies, it was always easier when your target was drunk. He agreed heartily and I rushed home to prepare.

When Russia showed up, I was wearing my usual pants, minus the belt, meaning that they barely clung to my hips, and my leather jacket, unzipped, revealing probably too much flesh, but that was the point, wasn't it?

And that was all I had on. Quite seriously.

I deliberately mussed up my normally flat hair and made a point to _not_ push my glasses back up every five minutes, leaving them just hanging on the tip of my nose. The whole effect was rather sexy I had to admit.

I smiled lewdly up at Russia. He was in his normal garb of his cream military clothes and that ever present scarf. 'Thanks for coming,' I looked away in mock shyness, 'I needed some company, and I felt like spending some time with different people.'

He grinned down at me and suddenly all my bravado and my great plan to seduce him was blown away. He didn't really look scary, but now he was this close and looming over me, I didn't know what to do. 'Zat's fine, Amereeca.' His accent was thick and heavy, and really, _really_ sexy, 'I too needed some company.'

'I-I'm glad I aren't st-stealing your time.' I squeaked. Russia let out a low chuckle. 'W-would you like me to take your c-coat?'

'Sure.' He took his scarf off first, and in the break when he wasn't looking at me I regained some composure. I tried to focus myself. My goal was to seduce Russia and get that damned information.

'Let me take that for you…' I offered in my most seductive voice, reaching for the scarf. When he relinquished it, I wrapped it around my own body, it being far too long to go just around my neck. 'Mmm…' I moaned. I didn't even have to fake the pleasure, 'still warm…' I then made the mistake of looking up at him again. And suddenly lost all of my recent memories.

Russia gave me an incomprehensible look and finally shook his head before going into the lounge area, which had already been set up with various bottles of alcohol and two glasses.

The moment I was no longer under his scrutiny, I remembered everything. 'Would you like a drink?' I scurried over and knelt by the table, deliberately leaning in such a way that my jacket would slip up a little, revealing the pale flesh just above my low pants.

I felt him sit behind me. 'Zat would be veery appreeciated.' I poured out a measure of brandy and turned around, leaning perhaps a tad too close to Russia for normal interaction, almost in his lap actually, and handed him the glass.

'Here is your drink…' I quickly thought of something to call him that may just soften him up a little. 'Ivan…' I whispered into his ear. We only tell people we trust our true names. That's rarely our superiors, mostly other nations.

He set the drink down and looked into my eyes and I became an incoherent mess again. It was then that I realised that I was in way over my head. Now I came to think about it, I couldn't remember the last time I had sex, let alone seduced someone.

To hell with it. I was the hero. I could make it up as I went along.

'You know…' I murmured, leaning closer. I was unable to actually kiss him. I was just too nervous. 'You have the prettiest eyes I have seen in anyone…' And it was true. His eyes were a certain shade of purple that you only got in the rarest of plums, or maybe only found on a printed page, framed with thick lashes that matched his blonde hair perfectly.

I ran my hands up his waist, feeling that he was in fact, quite lean under that thick coat. When I got to the top however, I was unable to unclip it, or unzip it, what ever it did. My hands wouldn't stop shaking!

Russia chuckled darkly. 'You don't know vat you are doing.' He accused.

'Nonsense,' I kept my low, seductive voice on but I could hear that it was slipping, 'I know exactl- mmph!'

Russia cut of my protests with a firm kiss that threw me completely off guard. 'Let me show you how eet ees really done, da?' A cold chill ran up my spine at his remark.

I was _so_ screwed. Literally.

'You really are amusing.' He murmured, slipping his hands up my bare torso to push my jacket off. Once that fell to the carpet, he removed my glasses and everything went blurry. I couldn't see him properly anymore. Only god knew what he was doing.

Something warm and wet was trailing down my neck, across my shoulders, down further. The mass of blonde hair that I could vaguely see made me think that it was his lips and tongue.

My hands patted around and found his shoulders, burying into the thick, stiff fabric of his coat, seeing as he never actually took it off.

It must have been then that I realised that I was going to fail… horribly, but of course, it never occurred to me at the time now, did it?

All I could think of right now was; brilliant! He took the bait!

Of course, that wasn't really the case. If it were, my hands would be down his pants, not the other way around.

His hand moved, rubbed, and I threw my head backward, moaning. This should be the other way around! I _need_ that information. I _need_ him to tell me whatever I was supposed to find out because otherwise my boss will kill me!

My hands dug deeper into Russia's coat, and he chuckled. I frowned. This is no time for him to be laughing at me! I need him to… Argh!

Fuck the information. I need Russia to…

'No!' A cry is torn from my throat when Russia backs off.

'You are too…' he frowned, thinking, 'eet sounds better een my language.' He stood, towering over me. His eyes sparkled in mirth. Goddamnit! He was enjoying this, irritating me, and… argh! It's as if he knows what I was supposed to be doing!

He squats down and picks up his scarf, which is discarded on the carpet before patting my head, once, twice and a third time. 'I sink I weell take my leave. Sank you for se dreenk.' And so he left me there, prone and half-naked on my living room floor, really wishing that he'd at least stayed to finish what he'd started.

…Commie bastard.

**Some 30 years later**

'Alfred.' My boss looks over the rim of his coffee cup sternly. 'This is very serious. It is no time to be plotting anything elaborate.'

My new boss is boring, like they all were, but he's younger, thank goodness. They all used to be so _old_ and creepy.

I sit on the couch, scowling. 'Yes sir.'

'Do you remember what you need to do?' He puts the cup down. I have to admit, unlike all of my previous superiors, excluding Lincoln, I actually respect this guy. He at least knows how to make a joke, unlike Bush. I shudder. Bush was an ass. He _hated_ how close I could get with Canada, Mexico, even England sometimes. He absolutely _hated_ gays.

'Yeah, I have to play nice with Russia to smooth the political standings.' I nearly shudder at this thought too. I mean, how _dare_ he even consider leaving me like that? I was almost ready to beg!

'I know you really don't get on with him, but this is important, alright?' He shrugs at me, and at least seems to be sympathetic.

I nod and swallow the last of my coffee. How the hell am I supposed to make up with Russia after what I did?

'Right,' I tell myself, rubbing my hands together, the door in front of me seems warped, and when I reach for the door knob after a voice inside permits me to enter, that seems to jump away from my hand.

I must be more pissed than I thought.

'Okay,' I mutter, 'all you have to do is wait for him in the lounge or something, and jump him.' It all sounds so easy to my liquor addled brain.

It _should_ be easy. And it would be, if I had any clue what to do. If I had even _tried_ seducing someone… anyone!

Even Canada.

But hey! I've been busy!

'Oh, America!' I look down, my hand still on the doorknob. 'It's you.'

'Liet!' I'm probably too loud, and the teen winces. 'Good to see you.'

'I… I'm Latvia,' the boy says, looking upset.

'Sorry! I uh…' I can't think of an excuse.

Latvia chuckles. 'It's okay, I know how you feel.'

I snort, closing the door. This kid has never tried to seduce Russia!

'Why don't you just wait in the kitchen, and I'll go get Russia?' Latvia offers, motioning to another door, which is thankfully open. I don't think that I'd be able to open another door.

'Yeah,' I stumble off to the door and slip inside, nearly tripping over when I get to the tiles. As I straighten up, I see a mirror and shuffle over to it.

What I see simply won't do. I look too sensible. I run my hand through my hair, and unzip my jacket. I look back at my reflection and remove my glasses as well. That takes me three attempts. And I think my vision just got _less_ blurry.

I am pissed.

'Amereeca, eet ees good to see you.' Russia enters the kitchen, and I start.

'Russia!' I crow excitedly. Now I can set my plan into motion. Now, how was I supposed to jump him again?

'You are veery… nervous, Amereeca, are you feeleeng alright?'

'Uhh, yeah!' I lean against the bench so I don't fall over. Everything has started spinning. 'It's late,' I laugh, but it comes out forced and too loud.

Russia shakes his head and crosses the room. 'Vould you like a dreenk, perhaps?'

I feel that it is rude to decline, and so I nod, even though it probably isn't the best idea.

He pours me a measure of drink, and hands me the small glass. 'Bottoms up,' Russia grins at me, in that sexy manner that only he somehow attains, and raises a similar glass to his soft lips.

Like a lamb, I raise my own glass and tip my head backwards, open my mouth and swallow the vodka.

And that is all I remember.

'You seem to have dreenken a _leetle_ too much.' The words are punctuated by a chuckle and a familiar accent.

They are also punctuated by an invisible spike that is driving into my skull. 'Aww, _fuck_.' I groan. I lift my hand to my head, and offhandedly wonder where my jacket is. It's not on me.

'Vould you like some vater? Or coffee? Zat is alvays good for a hangover.'

My head hurts so much each time he speaks. I want him to shut up! Or go away, or both.

'So,' Russia sits on the bed, next to my stomach, 'seeing as you are taking up my bed, vould you like to tell me vhy you are at my house to begeen veeth?'

It takes me a while to process this question, more specifically the words, his accent, whilst sexy, is not the best for a drunk to comprehend. Even so, I was still drunk, and therefore, didn't consider the consequences of telling the truth. 'I was going to seduce you, because my boss told me to play nice and strengthen political relationships.' Of course, my sentence didn't come out quite so neatly, it was more slurred and blurry.

There was a pregnant pause. I fidgeted with the covers, and finally, the silence was broken.

'Vell, I guess I should have expected eet.'

'Oh yeah, that's cool.' I wave my hand. My head is starting to hurt less, I think. 'Wait, _what_?'

'I vas vaiting for you too come back. I vas seenking zat you vere eer-ee-tay-ted,' he frowned when he pronounced the word, as if he didn't use it often, 'zat I left you like zat. You took a long time.'

'I've been busy doing stu- mmph!' Russia cuts off my fuzzy sentence when he leans over and fastens his mouth over mine. Absently, I notice that he tastes like fresh bread and cherry vodka.

'You are steell very een-ex-peer-ee-enced.' Russia carefully pronounces this word as well. 'Peerhaps I should teech you vat to do.'

I cannot articulate words to answer this, his idea sounds so good to me right now. He accepts the vague choking sound as a 'yes'.

'I am happy zat I took your clothes off earlee-er. Eet veell make zis eeseer.'

His hands are familiar when they run down my body, firmly kneading soft flesh and then the hard bone of my hips. His lips follow, and his teeth nibble at my collarbone as his hands delve beneath the waistband of my cotton boxers, and ohmahgodIthinkmybrainexploded, and it doesn't help that I'm still feeling the alcohol.

'Amereeca,' Russia murmurs, sucking harder at my skin. And _fuck_ he's left a mark. Not that I care too much, 'you rush eento zeese theengs too queekly,' his hand stops stroking my cock and instead pulls my boxers right down to about my knees, 'you should learn to control yourself.'

To be honest, I really don't care about controlling myself. Russia seems to find this all amusing, when I jut my hips up into his hand.

He lifts his spare hand to my face, running his fingers along my jaw. Suddenly, it strikes me as to how much larger he is than me. His hand could cover most of my face if he wanted it to.

His fingers tug on the corners of my lips, and I can't help but open my mouth slightly and the digits slide past my teeth, pressing on the sides of my tongue gently.

Even before the low, sultry command sounds in my ear, I roll my tongue around Russia's fingers and suck on them. There is an odd taste to his fingers, a bit like alcohol but that goes with Russia automatically, it's more bland, and creamy. For some reason, I think _scones_.

Gee, I'm weird.

'You know vat comes next?' Russia asks, slowly removing his fingers from my mouth. Saliva trails down my chin, chest, stomach, lower, rapidly cooling on my skin.

I shake my head. I can't remember anything past here, I'm normally drunk, and I don't think Canada has asked me to suck on his fingers. Ever.

There's something quite sexy about that particular act. It could easily be imagined to be something else entirely, something intimate, softer yet harder at the same time. Ahh, that memory is well enough pieced together; on my knees, Canada's fingers threaded through my hair and his cock hitting the back of my throat. I don't gag anymore.

But oh _fuck_, it's the other way around now. Russia doesn't seem to mind that my back arches to get myself into him further, and I need him to suck _now_ or I'm going to go crazy, and his hand is on my ass, molding the soft flesh in his over-large hand.

Russia finally sucks and at the same time, one of his fingers delves into my ass. And shit, that doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would, actually I thought it would be much worse, but then he twists his finger and rubs _something_ and da;ovrefpaisdf I'm just going to hope that Canada does this with me because really, this is the best feeling ever.

I moan, and Russia chuckles faintly around my cock. When he lifts his head, I keen in disapproval. I was so close to coming.

I still try to get his fingers to rub that spot again. I put my palms on the bed and push my body down, spreading my legs apart at the same time.

It didn't work.

Whilst I was still probably drunk, the only thing Russia was intoxicated with was mirth. I probably look like some needy slut to him right now. That's what I feel like at least. I really, _really _want him to just take his pants off and fuck me right now. Then I might just have an experience that I can remember.

'Russia…' I open my mouth with the intention to beg him to just _do it_, but he cuts me off.

'I must teach you vat to do,' Russia says sternly. His finger wiggles slightly and it feels like he just shot a spike of heat right through my stomach. 'Eet seems zat you are payeeng attention. Zat ees good.

'Now,' his finger withdraws from my ass, and I whine. It's not fair that he's taking away everything I enjoy, is it? 'you need to start slow, gentle.' He starts caressing my skin again. It doesn't _not_ feel good, but damn! After before? 'Zen, you can do almost vatever you vant.' He shoves me further into the blankets and starts stroking my cock again. 'Da?' He looks at me for acknowledgement of his last statement.

'Y-yeah,' I manage to choke out an answer, because really, I can't get enough blood from my groin into my head so that I can think properly.

'Good,' he lets me go, and I gasp. How the hell does he know whenever I'm about to come? Commie bastard. But no… he's just taking his pants of. Finally! 'So Amereeca,' he moves, and he's very big now that he's lying on top of me like this, propping himself up with his arms, 'you seem ready.'

He shifts again, and there's no pain, but a feeling of being full. It's nice. I like it very much. The feeling is vaguely familiar but I can't place it to any tangible memories.

Russia groans inaudibly, and I realise that his body's sagged a little, his head resting on the pillow next to my head. But maybe I imagined that part, because the next moment he seemed perfectly fine.

But there was no way in hell that I was all right.

'Amereeca?' Russia lifts one of his over-large hands and sweeps hair from my eyes. 'Ees zat okay?'

I don't say anything in response, but my body says enough for Russia. When my heels hook around the back of his legs—I can't move enough to tilt my hips enough to get my legs around his waist—he grins, and even with the restrictions of my heels, he manages to move himself enough to thrust forwards and then pull back. After that first thrust, I slide down a little, and my knees rub against his sides each time he rocks back and forth, and _shit_, if I thought that when his fingers rubbed whatever the hell it was inside me just once was good then I was sorely mistaken.

He is completely heedless when I first cry out a pure wail of pleasure, and then start to cry because no one has ever thought that I might not remember this in the morning, and what if I do forget this? I really don't want to! He doesn't stop when I gasp and spill my release all over my stomach, he just grunts and grasps my thighs, pushing them back so he can push deeper into me.

My fingers dig into the blankets tightly, and Russia's scarf tickles my nose, and I become putty in Russia's capable hands, all for him to play with.

I can hardly tell when he comes. All that gives it away is the bruising grip on my thighs. Then there's the white-hot searing in my stomach that really isn't that hot, but it adds to the feeling of fullness.

As the haze of lust fades, I realise that Russia's panting, and his hands, which are still on my thighs, are shaking. He lets my legs go, and leans forwards to look into my eyes.

'And zat,' he smiles faintly, rolling to the side, sighing, 'ees how you seduce someone.'

* * *

><p>Apologies for making America seem so slutty! Just, to me, when he's either drunk, or faced with someone who's really sexy (like Russia), he's first lose all bravado, and then, when seduced, become really needy, as if he puts on the Hero front to hide his true desires and the fact that he turns into a blubbering mess whenever someone throws him a heated look.<p>

Reviews are appreciated! I need to know what people think otherwise I'd have no idea on what to improve!


	6. After Drinks

**Canada/America/Canada; After drinks**

* * *

><p>'I love you when you're drunk…' America's lusty voice was barely audible over England's loud one, the latter's owner now doing shots at the end of the bar with Korea and Russia. 'You're so different… I could pin you up against a wall and fuck you senseless, but…' America's words were muffled by another sloppy kiss, 'I'm afraid you're the one who has me pinned… little brother.'<p>

He ran his hand up Canada's spine, enjoying how the simple touch made the younger boy squirm and press him closer to the painful edge of the bar. Alfred was surprised as to just how strong Matthew actually was.

Matthew growled, roughly grabbing Alfred's head, shoving the hero's glasses up accidentally. 'Damn straight…' He lifted his leg slightly, rubbing his thigh against Alfred's crotch. America was awarded another brief but heated kiss before Canada released him. 'Come on.' Matthew walked to the door, leaving Alfred rather prone, half sprawled across the bar. Although he was so drunk that he could hardly form a coherent sentence, he somehow knew that if they went any further _here_, they'd get some very odd looks, just as France and China were. At least they could pass China off as a girl to any strangers, or those who were _really_ drunk.

Alfred stood shakily and stumbled after the retreating blonde. 'Wait…' he fumbled with the door, his mind clouded, not with alcohol like Matthew's was, but with lust and a rather evident lack of blood. When he got into the now freezing outdoor air, Matthew gave him one look that turned his knees to jelly. 'Oh fucking dammit.' He locked his knees, but still had to grab Matthew's red pullover to stop himself from falling.

'Who knew the Hero would be so weak?' Matthew whispered. Alfred could feel the smirk growing on Matthew's face.

'Where are we going?' Alfred barely got the words out, which were immediately followed with a needy moan as Canada's hands firmly brushed against the growing bulge in his pants.

'Home…' Matthew once again released Alfred and started walking, barely able to walk either, his strides teetering slightly.

The moment they were in the front door of Matthew's house, Alfred found himself subject to Matthew's needy hands. He quickly lost his leather jacket, along with his shirt, and he found himself tugging immodestly at the red jumper.

Matthew took his hands from Alfred's smooth skin and yanked it off as he walked over to the couch, leaving a trail of clothing behind himself. The red jumper, a white shirt, shoes, and…

_Oh god…_

America was barely able to stand as he shakily followed Canada. He carefully stepped over the discarded belt.

'Alfred,' Matthew beckoned the elder blonde over and went back to caressing the smooth, supple skin of his surprisingly lean brother, especially considering how much he ate. He worked his way up and kissed Alfred's bare neck before looking into the hazy blue eyes as he removed the American's glasses. 'What do you want, hm?' He whispered. He bit at Alfred's skin again, leaving possessive marks behind. 'Personally, I want to throw you on the couch…' he trailed off, the alcohol blurring what he was going to say.

'Matthew,' the hero moaned, hardly believing that the younger nation was being so immoral, 'don't you think this is a bit… y'know, _wrong_?'

Matthew snorted a laugh, still trailing his lips and tongue down America's body. 'Not in the slightest.' His hands were at America's waist, undoing his belt and pants. 'Getting cold feet on me?' He carefully kneaded Alfred's waist with his knuckles.

'N-no…' America bit his lip, his head falling back slightly.

'Good.' Matthew knelt and pulled down Alfred's jeans, the silk boxers coming smoothly with them.

Canada's lips ghosted across America's lower stomach, and America's hands burrowed in the blonde hair. Canada ran his hands back up America's legs and onto his ass, drawing his hips closer, taking America's cock in his mouth.

America groaned, his fingers pulling tighter in Canada's hair. Whatever he was doing, it was amazing!

Canada's tongue sweeps around America's head, teasing the slit, just a little… America can't help but jut his hips forward. He doesn't just want his brother to tease him! He wants Canada to use that talent on the rest of his cock, make him feel better.

Matthew's teeth nip his skin. It doesn't hurt, but Alfred still gasps and jerks his hips backwards. Canada openly laughs at this, 'Isn't that painful?' He asks, simpering up at America, America just scowls in return, unable to think of anything to say in return.

'Yes, I know right?' Canada ignores America's silence and draws America's body closer again. America nods in response, and this time is glad that Canada didn't just stop at sucking on his head.

When the majority of his cock is enveloped in wet heat, he glances down, and holy crap, he's never seen his little brother look so sexy, with his forehead resting against Alfred's lower stomach, and his nose in blonde curls.

And then the tip of his length hits a soft wall, and Matthew swallows. America's hips jerk roughly when Matthew's throat closes around Alfred's head. Matthew doesn't seem to mind the rough treatment, in fact, he moans in appreciation, and although Alfred can't really see past Matthew's bare shoulders, he has fair reason to think that Matthew's got his spare hand on his own cock.

Matthew encourages Alfred to do what he wants, to thrust his cock deeper into Canada's mouth, if that's possible.

America's fingers, already tight in Canada's hair, hold Canada still when some of America's desperate thrusts jerk free from Canada's mouth, leaving wet trails of saliva on Canada's skin.

Canada stops America briefly, does the swallowing thing again, and then allows America to do whatever he wants again.

America's thrusts become more erratic, hastier as he approaches his climax. Canada seems to notice this as well, and a bare moment before America comes, Canada jerks his head back, and Alfred's white seed splatters across Matthew's face.

Almost at the same time, Canada's movements on his own cock bring his own orgasm about, and he hunches forwards, his fluid smearing on Alfred's legs.

Slowly, America's fingers loosen, and then fall to his side. He tried to step backwards, but his pants are still around his ankles, and he falls back, landing on his ass with a thump.

He watches Canada wipe a glob of his own seed from his cheek. He's kind of embarrassed now that he looks at it, but he's got to admit that Matthew really looks hot right now.

Matthew looks up and for a moment, he's just an inexperienced kid, and then he catches America's eye and very deliberately sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks the liquid off it. He even has the gall to smirk.

America hastily looks away, but he knows that he's too late. His cheeks are already warm and his ears are burning.

'Don't be so prudish.' Canada chides off-handedly, crawling closer to America. 'you just came all over my face.'

As Canada reaches for America's still hard cock, America frowns. 'Exactly.'

'I'm not satisfied yet.' Canada chuckles, bending to lick the last of America's seed away.

America frowns even more and puffs his cheeks out like he used to when he was a little kid and he was annoyed. 'I know.'

* * *

><p>Wahh~ I was lazy on this one! Sorry that there's no actual sex, hopefully manly!drunk!Canada makes up for it!<p>

Reviews are appreciated so I know how to improve!


	7. Kink Meme update

This is the queue for my Kink Meme updates! It's pretty straightforward, but if you want a particular story bumped up the queue because it sounds interesting, then message me, and I'll see what I can do for you!

* * *

><p><strong>Finished;<strong>

Sealand/Latvia: Pain  
>RussiaAmerica: Revenge  
>CanadaAmerica; After Drinks  
>RussiaAmerica: Protective!Russia

* * *

><p><strong>Begun;<strong>

(In order of my preference to finish them)

France/England, Russia/America: The Other Side Of The Wall  
>LithuaniaPoland, Russia: Scarf Play  
>PrussiaGermany: Rainstorm  
>AmericaGermany: Smut  
>AustriaHungary, Austria/Prussia: Piano Stripping  
>CanadaAmerica, England/America, Russia/America: Diary  
>EnglandAmerica: Jealousy  
>PrussiaFeliciano: Marijuana Porn

* * *

><p><strong><span>Waiting;<span>**

America/Belarus/Russia: Threesome, Or Not  
>AmericaCanada: French Kink  
>AmericaCanada/America: So Very Wrong  
>AmericaEngland: American Boy  
>AmericaEngland/America: He Thinks He's Not Smart/Cultured Enough  
>AmericaPrussia: Pda  
>AmericaRussia, Canada: Voyueristic!America  
>AmericaCanada/America: Comfort  
>CanadaPrussia: Topping, Hard  
>Canada, World: Genderbender<br>Canada, World: Harem Orgy  
>CubaCanada: Blindfolded  
>DenmarkNorway: Hidden  
>RussiaLithuania, Austria/Prussia, America/England, Spain/Romano: Finger Or Toe Licking Kink  
>AmericaEngland: You Sunk My Battleship!  
>England: Punk<br>America, France, Russia, Canada, England: Genderbender  
>Prussia: Genderbender<br>Russia/America: Genderbender


End file.
